Juvenile
by Javawolf
Summary: Caught between the war against darkness and the struggle of adolesence, a young Dean can think of no alternative but to run.
1. Chapter 1

Juvenile

By Javawolf

* * *

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, _Supernatural _is not mine. (Are these _really_ necessary?)

Author's Note: My first Supernatural fic. I fear I may have the characters a bit OOC. (Cringe) Even so, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Drop a line.

* * *

Sammy hates me.

That's all there is to it, he just hates me. I hit him and he won't fight back. I taunt him and he just smirks at me. In our fucked up family that's weird.

He says he doesn't like fighting.

"It's stupid, and it doesn't help anything," he says, like he knows what he's talking about. We save people's _lives_ by fighting! I mean... If we stopped fighting we'd lose. That's what Dad says.

I've been fighting darkness my whole life, and I don't think I've won yet, but hell if I'm gonna lose. I live for fighting, but I still can't remember a time when I wasn't afraid of the dark... And I'm almost seventeen.

"None of this stuff was real before we started looking for it." Sammy told me one night. We were just lying on our backs in the grass, looking up at the sky one summer evening. I was eleven. It was really cloudy and Sammy was scared, I remember. But I just scooted over to him and told him to shut up, and he laughed.

Sammy never laughs anymore, and he won't fight. And now I'm scared. I don't wanna lose him, too.

* * *

"_Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean! Go!_"

_Am I in trouble? Oh, don't go too fast... Gotta... Get down the... stairs. Sammy's heavy. My arms hurt... I didn't do anything, what am I in trouble for? Slow...ly... Uh-oh... Daddy musta found the syrup bottle..._

"_Don't cry Sammy." Almost at the bottom..._

_Daddy's yelling up there... Maybe I should go back._

"_Sammy, shut-up. Stop crying, you dumb baby." Dumb baby... Dumb baby... My arms hurt. I didn't drink the syrup, Sammy did. If Sammy drank the syrup, I'm not in trouble anymore. You're heavy, Sammy._

_What's that smell? Smells like Daddy's pancakes, we're getting pancakes! I didn't drink the syrup, Sammy did. It's hot._

_Down the steps. I'm tired... Heavy baby. But not dumb._

"_You're not dumb, Sammy." Heavy though, stop crying. Outside. So much colder. Stop crying._

"_Shh... It's okay, Sammy." _

_Ahh, no! The house... My toys..._

_Daddy!_

_MOMMY!_

Dean woke suddenly, leaping into an upright, martial arts position. For a moment he sat in the darkness of his room, posed and ready for the attack that never came. His breath came in ragged gasps and his hands were curled so tightly into fists that they trembled.

Minutes passed, and he didn't move. It was only when he started to feel a chill that he dared to relax back into bed. Very quickly he realized why he felt that sudden chill.

"Oh..." He groaned loudly and swore at himself. He'd soiled his bed sheets. Again. "For the love o'..." He trailed off, peeling the wet sheets from his bed and carrying them into the laundry room where he left them for the morning.

This was the third time in as many months that Dean had wet the bed. He never told anyone. What would Dad say?

"You're seventeen years old, you should at least have some fucking bladder control! Be a man! Fight your fears!"

Fight...

_I can't be afraid of the dark. Sooner or later it'll take me._

_Don't be afraid of the dark._

As Dean shuffled into the bathroom and stripped his dirty clothes his own words echoed in his mind. He wanted to be a man. He wanted to be a fighter, a warrior... a hero. But he _was_ afraid, and he knew he could never stop being afraid. Terrified of his own shadow; of the shadows he was forced to live in.

He turned the shower on as hot as it would go, praying that the sound of water running in the old pipes wouldn't wake his father. Hesitantly he stepped into the shower, and stood absolutely still, allowing the piping hot water to beat down on his head, cascading over him like an angry waterfall.

It was times like these when he was able to reflect. He didn't like it. Any other time the chaos of his life distracted him from the little things; school, girls, etc. In truth Dean knew he'd rather fight the forces of darkness than face the reality of adolescence. Admitting that there was life beyond the war only succeeded in making the war seem more menacing; more real. And so on a daily basis, Dean forced himself to believe that he didn't live in the real world.

He lived in a nightmare.

And even though he knew he shouldn't; even though he didn't want to, Dean found hope in waking. One day, this life would all just be a dream.

With extreme reluctance Dean turned off the water and pulled back the shower curtain. He wrapped himself in a towel and stepped in front of the mirror. Slouching over the sink, he studied his reflection. Glaring back at him was a mask he'd spent ten years perfecting, crafted entirely of endurance and indifference. He ran a hand through his hair to muss it to his liking, and then, satisfied with the result, he stalked silently toward his bedroom.

As he passed his father's bedroom Dean heard the familiar sound of muffled sobs, likely caused by the same nightmare that haunted his own dreams. He hesitated by the door, reaching to grab the handle and enter. But before he even touched it the door swung open and the dark figure of John Winchester loomed over him. Dean cowered under his father, his hands instantly groping at his sliding towel. He silently cursed himself for being so naked in front of his father, but straitened his posture none-the-less, standing tall before him with the abiding mask of a soldier.

"Dean?" John stated groggily, rubbing sleep out of his blood-shot eyes. "What are you doing up?" He glanced back into his room, peering through the darkness to see the time that flashed across the face of his bedside alarm clock. "It's four in the morning. Are you okay?"

For a split second Dean was at a complete loss for words. The concern he thought he heard caused him to think for a moment that he was still dreaming. He quickly recovered however, giving John a blank look.

"I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd take a shower to relax." At his father's look of disbelief Dean added, "I'm fine. Really." John sighed. After studying his son for another short minute he stepped in the hallway and closed his door softly behind him.

"Come on." He said softly, wrapping his arms around his eldest son and leading him down the hall. Dean was reluctant, but walked with him slowly, still holding his towel loosely around his waist. John took off the robe he wore over his sweats and set it on Dean's shoulders as they entered the kitchen. He continued toward the fridge, while Dean, surprised at the gesture, shrugged the robe on and tied it securely around his middle.

"Well, Dean," John yawned. "I not even going to try to go back to sleep tonight–you?"

Dean shook his head. This didn't make any sense. What kind of game was his father playing? What benefit came from this training? Where was the lesson in all of this? Dean watched attentively, prepared for anything, as his father set a bag of ham and a jar of mayonnaise on the counter.

"You want a sandwich?" John asked, reaching above the fridge to grab the bread. "I think I might make some coffee, too. What do you think?" He set the bread down next to the ham. Dean stared at him, but John simply met his eyes with a weak smile.

"Come on, Dean." He said. "How often do I get to talk to my little boy?"

It was at that moment that Dean lost hold of the mask, and it fell from his face leaving behind it a flickering smile.

"Sandwich and coffee. Sounds good." And with that Dean walked over to the counter and sat up on a stool next to his father.

* * *

tbc. Sorry so short, bare with me. 


	2. Chapter 2

Juvenile

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: Well, I have to say I was rather intimidated by the lack of response. But I know where I want this story to go so I'm going to continue it, no matter how few reviews I get. For those who did review, I really do appreciate it. Thanks.

And now for some plot, eh?

* * *

Chapter Two

"What about Andrea Billings? She's pretty cute." John grinned through a mouth full of ham sandwich.

"Andrea?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I want her mom."

At this, his father merely stared. Dean shook his head with a slight smile and got out the bread to make himself another sandwich; while at the same time, John shook his head with a slight frown and downed the last of his coffee in a shot. As Dean spread a layer of mayonnaise over his bread, John cleared his throat.

"Is there any one girl you have your eye on? Or a girl with her eye on you?"

"Dad..." Dean groaned, rolling his eyes.

"No, no, I want to know." He said, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the counter.

"Truthfully..." Dean sighed. "I don't do much in the way of socializing." At John's frown, he hurried to take back what he'd said. "I mean, school is great and all. I... learn stuff... I guess... We just move around a lot." He shrugged. "I guess I've learned not to bother getting close to anyone."

"Dean, I want to be a good father and tell you that's wrong..." For a moment, John looked helpless; at a complete loss. "... But I can't." He put his hand on Dean's shoulder, not awake enough to notice the dark mask that had been put back in place.

"This is a soldier's life. When push come to shove, we do what we have to. And you're a soldier, a damn fine one. You've already taught yourself a good lesson."

"That being anti-social and carrying lethal weapons around in my backpack are the keys to popularity?" Dean mumbled sarcastically. John smiled despite himself.

"You've learned to adapt to hardship. You took a regular, teenage conflict and used it to further hone and develop you fighting skills."

Dean blinked.

"It's called intuition. It's something that will save your life time and time again. You'll see."

"All I did was ensure that I'll die a virgin." Dean scoffed. John forced his gaze on his son. Dean felt that the look he received from his father in that moment was enough to drive any normal man into the ground. But not a soldier. He refused to let show how intimidated he was, his stony features reflecting only frustration.

"You're..." John dropped his gaze. "You're–still a virgin?" Dean almost smiled at the sight of his father blushing.

"Do we need to go over the anti-social part again?"

Finally deciding that drilling his son at 4:30 in the morning was getting him nowhere, John backed down from the subject and moved on to a different one.

"I know we haven't lived here for very long, but I'm sure after a few more months Virginia will seem like a nice enough place."

"Sure, it _seems_ nice enough." Dean scoffed. "But contrary to what you might think, I'm not an idiot, Dad." John jerked and recoiled as though he'd been physically slapped. Dean continued without noticing.

"I know why we're here, and I know what we're hunting. And while, yeah, the place is nice – with the picket fences and the happy little kids who jump on their trampolines when I'm trying to sleep..." He let his breath out in a rush. "People here are going to die."

After the shock of the statement had finally sunk in to John's mind, Dean rose from his stool and began pacing the floor, madly.

"Sure, maybe after a couple months I could get used to this place. Ask Emily out, join the boy scouts, win the lottery; each just as likely to happen as another." He raked his hands through his still damp hair. "But who are we kidding, Dad?" Dean's voice was much lower now. "Assuming we don't die in this fight we'll be moving on to a new one. This isn't home, it's just a place."

"Who's Emily?"

"A girl Dad, don't change the subject."

"Is she cute?"

"You know what your problem is?" Dean shouted. He could feel the blood rushing to his head. He was out of line and he knew it, but he made a fast decision not to care. "You're so obsessed with the–the fighting and the hunting, you don't even pay attention to us."

"I'm trying to pay attention now!" John growled. "You keep pulling away, you have nothing to whine about!"

"I'm not whining, I'm just telling it like it is." Dean covered his face with his hands. "You know Sammy's miserable. Do you even care? All you can think about is fighting. He keeps trying to tell you, but you can't listen... The war is so loud... You might try to listen, but..." Dean glared at his father through his fingers. "You're so heartless."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence during which the younger Winchester fought for his breath after an adrenaline rush. John stared at his son with a vacant look, unsure of how to break this dreadful silence.

Dean fell backwards into the recliner that sat in front of the TV, still holding his head in his hands. It was in this moment that realization dawned on the elder, who suddenly understood where this outburst had come from.

John walked around the kitchen counter and into the joint living room, and knelt by Dean's side.

"Dean..." He soothed. The boy twitched, but didn't respond.

"Hey, Sam knows you care about him, son. I mean, damn. It's so obvious the way you look out for him. You're a good brother, Dean." Dean peeked through his fingers at his father. He felt so ridiculous.

John continued. "You're alert and capable as a soldier–that doesn't make you any more a freak than I am."

"That's very comforting Dad, thanks." Came Dean's muffled grumble.

"Listen to–hey–LISTEN!"

The sudden noise scared the boy, but he didn't let it show. Dean fixed his poker face, rose slowly out of the recliner and onto his feet in something of a tired salute. John sighed and shook his head.

"I was going to say that you are, in fact, _not_ obsessed with the fighting, but..."

Dean relaxed back into his usual slump, and approached his father slowly with a pleading look.

"You really think that?"

John blinked. "No." He almost laughed. "No, I was just... Jesus Christ, Dean, lighten up."

Dean waved a disregarding hand. "Yeah, whatever. I'm sick of this soap-opera shit."

John looked like he wanted to argue, but his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Hey family." Sam yawned as he swaggered groggily into the kitchen in search for coffee.

"You're up early." John smiled at his son, following him into the kitchen. Dean brought up the rear.

"It's hard to get any sleep with you two bickering like an old married couple." Sam shrugged.

Dean snickered. "Pour me a cup of coffee too, would you little brother?"

"Uh-huh." Sam yawned again. And so began another typical morning of the atypical life of a Winchester. As he sipped his black coffee and shared small talk with his brother, Dean vowed never to let his walls down again. He had to stay strong for Sammy, and the mask would be a part of him from this point on.

* * *

"Fuck those guys, Sammy. You're tougher than they are."

"I can't _kill_ them!" Sam gasped, horrified. They were in Dean's car on the way to the middle school, and Sam had just confided to his brother that he was being bullied.

"I don't mean kill them." Dean couldn't help but laugh. "I'm just saying, you've spent your whole life training... So use it." Sam sighed loudly. Dean glanced at his brother and then back to the road. "You really hate this gig, don't you?"

"I just don't like fighting." He grumbled. He'd had to repeat this a seemingly endless number of times. "It–"

"Doesn't help anything." Dean finished smugly. "It'll keep you from getting your face pounded into the bathroom wall." Sam was silent as he looked vacantly out the window.

"Hey Sammy..." Dean hesitated. "Look, if they're causing you trouble, I can deal with them."

"No." Sam stated firmly and forcefully.

"Are you sure?" Dean persisted. "Cause...well this is the only time I'll offer."

"I can handle it." Sam said. Dean glimpsed at him long enough to see a twitching smile that tugged at his mouth. "I'm going to handle it myself." Sam finished confidently.

_Way to go, Sammy..._

"Fine, whatever."

A few minutes passed in silence, and soon the sleek, '67 Impala eased into the employee parking space closest to the front doors of the Middle School.

"You can't park here." Sam sighed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Ah, you always say that." Dean smirked.

"And you always park here." Sam retorted. He smiled to his brother. "See you."

"Wait, Sammy." Dean grunted, turning off the engine and sliding out of the driver's seat. "I wanna walk you in today."

"_Dean_." Sam whined. "I'm fine, I'll take care of those guys."

Dean spread his arms. "What? I'm not cool enough? I'm the coolest damned brother you'll ever have."

Sam gave an exasperated sigh. "Why, God?" Dean laughed and grabbed his brother's hand.

"Just for that–uber embarrassment."

Dean kept a firm hold on Sam's hand all the way to his home room. Sam couldn't help but notice just how tight his brother's grip was; as though he feared losing Sam to some invisible under-tow.

And naturally, the four shades of red that Dean had already caused Sam's cheeks to burn, weren't enough. Without warning, Dean knelt down and embraced his baby brother in a tight hug.

In front of the whole class.

What surprised Sam the most though, is that he returned the hug despite the quite laughter that sounded softly through the classroom.. "Bye, Dean."

"Yeah. Bye." Dean let go and stood again, looking somber. Then he said in a louder tone. "Hey Sammy, you tell me if you have any problems with the other kids, and I'll _talk_ to them." He scanned the room with an intensely pointed look.

The snickering stopped immediately.

Dean turned back to Sam. "I can't pick you up after school today, so call Dad on the cell when class lets out."

"Why can't you–"

"See you, Sammy."

And with that, Dean turned and left. Sam watched him saunter down the hallway and out the double doors.

And he didn't look back.

* * *

John groaned loudly when his vibrating cell phone woke him from one of the few peaceful naps he'd had the luxury of experiencing lately. Grumbling various swear words, he picked up the line.

"What?" He spat into the mouth piece.

"Dad?" Sam ventured.

"Sam?" John straightened in his recliner and turned down the television. "What is it? What's happening? Are you okay?"

"Fine, Dad. I just need to be picked up."

John blinked.

"Picked up from where?" He asked hesitantly.

"School." Sam said slowly and unsurely.

John's pulse quickened. "Where's your brother?"

"He said he couldn't pick me up today. Test or something."

"He had a test?"

"I don't know, he didn't say." Sam was confused. "Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing... Uh... I'll pick you up in a few minutes. Wait inside." He put emphasis on the last two words and reached for the keys to the truck.

* * *

"Ciderlock High School."

"Yes, hello. My name is John Winchester, I need to talk to my son, Dean. Please, it's urgent."

"One moment please." The woman drawled before putting him on hold.

"Christ, lady, do you _know_ what urgent means?" He grumbled. A moment later the woman picked up the line again.

"Sir, Dean Winchester is absent today."

"What? No he's not. He-he can't be. I saw him leave."

"Well, he's not here." The woman scoffed.

"Can you check again?"

"No."

"How the hell did you get this job?" John spat before hanging up his cell phone and throwing it roughly into the passenger seat of his Ford pick-up.

Dean was gone.

... Dean was gone ...

* * *

tbc

Please, please review, okay? I really appreciate feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

Juvenile

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: Wow... Recognition, don't I love it. Thank you all so much for your reviews, I really, _really_ appreciate it, you have no idea. Just – thanks. And keep 'em coming!

P.S. Things will start picking up in the next chapter, promise.

* * *

Sam nearly took the door off it's hinges when he tore through it, and then ran through the house shouting his brother's name. _He's not gone. He didn't leave me. He wouldn't._ "Dean!" He screamed down the stairs, into the basement. "Dean!" His voice felt so weak as it cut through his sore throat. He descended quickly down the stairs and into the dark, but he knew that he wouldn't find his big brother down here. Dean was gone.

"Sam," John called softly through the basement door way. Even he was at a loss for what to do. The marine in him tugged at his thoughts, whispering to him that there was a fallen soldier behind him; lost and in pain, but the father in him saw only the pain in the dark eyes of his youngest son. First things first, Sam had to get a grip. "Sam." He repeated sternly when he didn't get an immediate response. Still, the boy ignored him, concluding that the basement search was a futile effort and running up the stairs, past his father and across the hall into Dean's bedroom.

Dean had left everything, Sam noticed that immediately. He had always been the observant one. Sam fought the urge to pace the short length of the room, a bad habit of his, and instead began sifting through Dean's things in hopes of finding out what he'd taken with him. Dean didn't have very much by way of possessions. Sam slowed to a halt at the sight of Dean's silver pendent on his bed, still fixed securely onto the leather strap that held it. Dean used to keep it on a long, silver chain, but a hunt gone haywire had succeeded in breaking it. Sam had made the leather strap for his brother in workshop. Dean had looked so happy, why would he leave it?

The charm was the only thing Dean had kept through their years of training. Their family was always on the move and they had to travel light, this is why they only rented homes that came furnished, or stayed in some moldy motel. Dean would leave anything behind if he had too, except that necklace; Sam didn't know why.

He slowly made his way toward the bed, which he noticed was stripped to the mattress for some mysterious reason. He lifted the charm off of the mattress and into his palm. He'd never really gotten a good look at it before. It was a simple, small figurine. It looked almost Asian, the statue resembling a person on his knees. Was he cradling something? Or perhaps he was praying... Sam continued to stare at it, intent on figuring out exactly what it was. But maybe, he just wasn't meant to know.

John, still sluggish and stunned at Dean's sudden disappearance, slowly followed his son into the room and upon sight of the necklace, he faltered. Sam noticed of course and narrowed his eyes only slightly, expecting an explanation. When none came he approached his father.

"Dad?" His tone was more accusatory than he had at first intended it to be, but Sam got the intense feeling that this necklace meant something to his father that he wasn't getting, and he needed to know what.

John shook his head sadly at the boy before him. Sam shouldn't hear that story, it would cut too deep for him to bear. Sam had been on the receiving end of brutal, supernatural beatings before and John knew he could take on any enemy besides betrayal. He trusted his borther with his life. "Sam...," John sighed, rubbing under his eyes at the building sinus pressure. "I don't think Dean is in any kind of trouble. I think he left."

Unexpectedly, Sam lashed out at his father. "You're a liar!" He shouted, waving the charm in the John's face. "You liar, you don't give a damn about him, he could be dead and you're pretending he ran away?" The disbelieving glare Sam aimed at his father was intense, but John had taken worse.

"Sammy..." He tried softly, only to be cut off.

"Don't call me that!" Sam spat, surprising even himself. He shifted his gaze to the floor. He didn't know exactly why it bothered him, but he simply did not want to hear the familiar nickname, especially not now. "It's just Sam." He raised his eyes to meet his father's with another, even more intense glare, currently his only weapon, but the man merely continued to frown.

Sam didn't know John Winchester as well as most sons know their fathers, but he'd lived with him long enough to know that the expression he wore on his face in that moment was one that meant that there was deep, inexplicable thought going on behind the sad, dark eyes. Sam also knew that the thoughts would never be voiced, save in the mumbles that John couldn't prevent in his nightmares.

John remembered when Dean was very small; the day that he and Mary had told the child that he was going to have a little brother. He'd been so happy he'd smiled for days. That silly, little-boy grin that John remembered so well, absolutely nothing like the pasted smile Dean plastered onto his face when he needed to please.

Even before little Sammy was born Dean had become a parent figure. He would read stories to the child even in the womb... Mary knew he would be the best big brother and role-model, and she dubbed him as such, with a charm to remind him of his responsibility. John remembered watching that event with amusement, holding the video camera to capture the moment forever.

"_The End." The boy said in a dramatically low voice, closing the book and glancing to his mother, who sat on the couch beside him with her hand placed gently on her belly._

"_He liked that one." She smiled. "I can tell."_

_Dean beamed. "Me too." He said enthusiastically. "I can always tell what Sammy likes." He nodded in a very intellectual manner, causing John to snicker behind the camera. The kid was a trip. John envisioned him in the next generation's biggest Oscar-winning film as an adult, he had born talent as an actor._

"_You really like that name, don't you love?" Mary cooed. Dean hadn't stopped calling the baby Sammy since he'd learned it was a boy. John preferred Sean, but he'd named their eldest and Mary insisted that Sammy was adorable. Women._

_Dean curled up beside his mother and listened through her belly for any sign of life. He always claimed to hear the baby giggling. Sometimes Mary believed he really could._

"_Hey, Dean," She said, glancing to her husband to make sure he was still taping. He gave her a thumbs up sign and she turned back to the boy who watched her with glowing admiration. "Do you know what this baby is going to make you?"_

_Dean grinned ear to ear and nodded. "A big brother!" He exclaimed excitedly. Mary laughed. _

"_Yeah!" She replied in the same tone of voice. "You got it, buster! And do you know what that means?"_

_At this, the child tilted his head and scrunched up his nose in thought. After a moment, he shook his head, defeated. Mary leaned closer to him._

"_It means you're going to have a special new job. You have to watch out for little Sammy and he's going to make sure you do. Little brothers are really great, you know." She added. "But they can be a lot of work, and you have to make a promise to protect them, like had to promise for my baby brother, your uncle Brian."_

_Dean's eyes became the size of saucers. "Uncle Brian was a baby?" Mary and John exchanged glances, suppressing the peels of laughter that fought to surface._

"_Yes," Mary giggled. "Yes, he was. A _long_ time ago. But even then, I was a little jealous of my brother. See, babies need a lot of attention and sometimes parents can get pre-occupied with things. Sometimes it makes us big kids a little upset, and that's why we promise to watch out for our little baby brothers or sisters, so that even if were upset or they're upset we still have each other. Do you understand?"_

_Dean shrugged. "I guess so. I have to promise?"_

_Mary nodded with a smile. "Yup." She said, "Just like this. Repeat after me. 'I, Dean Winchester,'"_

"_Er... I'm Dean Winchester..."_

"'_Do solemnly swear to uphold the duties of Big Brother,'"_

"_Do som...soberly?"_

"_Sol - em - lee." _

"_Solemnly.."_

"_Here, try this. 'I promise to protect Sammy forever.'"_

"_Uh-huh." Dean nodded. "I promise."_

_John bit his lip to keep from laughing. Dean could be very sensitive if he wasn't taken seriously._

_Mary reached into her pocket and retrieved a long, silver chain. On the chain was a small charm, no bigger than a nickel. Dean's eyes lit up and he eagerly reached for it._

"_Is it for me?" He asked excitedly. "Is it?" _

"_Oh yeah!" Mary exclaimed with a little added enthusiasm. She unclasped the necklace and helped Dean to secure it around his neck. "It's a special 'big brother necklace.' It means you made the promise, and now your officially the coolest brother ever."_

_Dean hopped off the couch and bounded over to his father, who focused the video camera on him as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "Look daddy! Look, it's a special big brother necklace, and it's mine, see? I'm the coolest brother ever, mommy said so." _

_The child positively glowed with excitement. While his parents may only think of this promise as a guideline or a nice moment to look back on, Dean carved it into his memory as law. He _would_ protect his brother, always._

"Liar!" Sam shouted again, feeling as though his father weren't even listening to him. Why wouldn't he do anything? Dean could have been kid-napped, or sacrificed to some awful beast or something; and John just stood there feeling sorry for himself.

Sam straightened his posture and stood toe to toe with him. "We're _going _to find Dean." He growled. "Anything could be happening to him... For Christ's sake, you're supposed to be our dad!"

Without warning, the older man grabbed his son by the collar of his shirt and yanked him off of his feet. For a moment John just froze, his eyes screaming curses without a single sound escaping his lips. Then, following the long, shuddering breath that threatened to turn into tears, he spoke.

"I am your dad." He said softly, he voice breaking only slightly. "And that means I'm in charge, and you _will _do what I tell you to do is that clear?"

"Crystal." Sam mumbled coldly. John blinked several times, as though trying to find the right words, and then finally set the boy back onto the ground embracing him in a warm, fatherly hug.

Sam hadn't expected that. His thoughts flashed back to just that morning, when Dean had tried to say good-bye. It was in this moment that Sam knew – Dean hadn't been forced into leaving, or taken away against his will – he'd left on his own, and he wasn't coming back.

* * *

Maybe he should go back... Dean cranked up the heat a little, but his windshield began very quickly to fog up and he grumbled various complaints as he tugged his jacket on and turned on the AC. Tennessee was cold in November. It didn't help that Dean always broke into a sweat when he was nervous or anxious, and the cold bit at the beads forming all over his body. He wasn't sure he could do this...

Sam always talked about leaving. He dreamed of an education... Of all things. But going away to college, where there's at least some level of normality and an illusion of safety, was very different from the war path. He was all alone out here, and he hadn't the slightest clue what the hell he was doing.

Dean hit the power button on his radio, probably a little harder than was necessary. The screaming guitar riffs that normally gave him his needed boost were now beginning to melt into pointless noise. He knew he should go back. He wasn't ready. But he also knew that he couldn't, not now. Damn that Winchester pride. Damn it to hell.

The silence around him on the cold mountain highway was beginning to grate on his nerves just as much as the music had. Agitation was a side effect of the anti-anxiety pills he'd taken an hour ago, but he felt certain it wasn't the medication that threatened to tear through his skull. He was so tense he was giving himself a migraine.

_This is ridiculous._

Dean told himself to calm the hell down, he was being a baby. Dusk had fallen and his teeth chattered as the sweat beaded up all over his face. He couldn't do this anymore, he had to stop. But the twisting, two lane highway didn't sport any grungy motel, or even a rest stop. Just the fading pavement stretching on endlessly. Dean kept driving for another half hour, until he was able to see his breath form in the air. It was now pitch black, and below freezing; Dean didn't know how high the altitude was but the air was thin and hurt his chest.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw lights ahead, and sank again when he saw that the lights belonged to another car that had pulled off of the road. Dean regained hope, however, when he saw who the car belonged to. A handful of kids his age, maybe three or four of them – and they looked like they'd set up something resembling a camp. He prayed that they would take a liking to him, because he just couldn't drive like this anymore, not tonight. The added drowsiness from the pills was beginning to take effect.

Dean eased his car off the road and slowed to a halt behind the beat-up blue Subaru. None of the teenagers stood from around their protective fire, and when Dean slipped out of the car he got a whiff of the reason. These kids were stoned, the air stank with it. Dean's first thought was to get back in the car and keep going, but his headache made a very convincing argument. Deciding finally that stopping for the night was his only option, he approached the camp-fire with his patented confident stroll.

"Hey, fellas. Got room for one more?"

* * *

John fingered the charm as it lay in his palm. Sam had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago, with the telephone in his lap. Dean had taken his cell phone, so Sam insisted he would call. Of course, he didn't. John had known he wouldn't, but he couldn't tell the boy what his brother had given up. The necklace he held in his hand was a message. Dean had quit. He didn't have a brother anymore. He had no one.

He was all alone.

* * *

More soon. And hey, fishing for reviews. Did I mention my birthday is Wednesday? I'd like Jensen Ackles in a gigantic, red-velvet stocking, but I'll settle for some honest reviews. Emphasis on honest, okay? Tell me how I'm doing, what you'd like to see next, because I admit to being a spontaneous writer. Till next week, stay healthy and happy. 


	4. Chapter 4

Juvenile

By Javawolf

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Author's Note: New characters, some girls but I swear : absolutely Mary-Sue _free_. The fiction is going to become a lot darker in the next few chapters. I've just consulted with my writing partner, Raven, who's brilliant plot bunnies deserve some credit. .:applause, applause:.

Also, by dark I mean I'm taking advantage of my T rating here, so be warned. Language, violence, sex and drug use. The whole enchilada. And I mean _really_ dark. I'm a sucker for hurt-Dean, what can I say – I'm a sadist.

Again, please review, I _need_ feedback to function. Raven does too. For us?

* * *

The sun was coming up, and Dean seemed to notice for the first time in his life that it had a glittering, purple rim around it. He'd never paid enough attention before, he supposed. It was really pretty... Everything seemed somewhat bent out of proportion, especially the trees.

Their group had moved away from the road for fear of prosecution; those wacked out people who call loitering a crime. Dean laughed in his head at this absurd thought. Loitering... who thought that one up anyway? Like you can arrest someone for standing in the wrong place. In an unconscious act, Dean blew a raspberry at the lightening sky as he lay on his back under the canopy of trees. His new friends didn't notice, as they too were preoccupied with the odd-colored sunrise.

Dean continued to ponder the subject of loitering, and whether or not he could break a police officer's jaw with his own hand-cuffs were he to be arrested for such an act. He grinned smugly to himself while listening to the morning song of a cardinal. Sure he could, he could take anyone. Dean could feel his own ego as it seemed to inflate itself. He was invincible. He was like, fucking Superman! Yeah!

Whoa, okay... A sudden wave of nausea washed over him. Dean gagged dryly for a moment before struggling to his feet. He managed to stumble a few yards deeper into the thick woods before his center of gravity seemed to disappear and he fell. He dry heaved on his hands and knees, with his head hanging limply between his shoulders. A few yards away, one of the teen-age boys he'd come to know as Harry, though Dean knew that wasn't his name, seemed to be having the same experience. Except Harry had eaten the night before.

When the nausea passed and the forest had stopped spinning Dean ventured to stand. He succeeded, with a smug grin of triumph on his face as he swaggered over to the rest of the group. He looked from one to the other, evaluating their situation; an old habit that probably came from being an ex-marine's eldest son. Harry was still retching in the bushes about twenty feet away. His girlfriend and/or sister, Dean hadn't decided, lay face down on Harry's coat next to a half-eaten hot dog and an empty beer bottle. Dean had named her Sally. He snickered. _Get it?_ He asked himself for probably the thirtieth time in the past nine hours. _When Harry Meet Sally... Funny. _

Dean shook his head at his own comic genius and turned his attention to the other girl, whom he'd decided to call Alley. She was really pretty, he'd thought, but her boyfriend was here too, disappointingly. Still, he fantasized. He could do that right? And...

Even if he _did_ fuck Alley, her boyfriend; Dean called him Jack, was so stoned he wouldn't notice or care. And if he did, well Dean could take him. Hell, Dean could kill him.

Whoa, hold it. Dean shook his head violently. That wasn't him, he didn't think things like that. He must still be kind of tired, or maybe he was stoned and drunk of his ass, but it didn't matter because he was totally under control. Completely, and fully –

"Hey, new guy!" Jack shouted with a furious look on his face. Dean jerked to look at him, noticing only now that he had to pull away from the girl to do so.

Oops...

"What are you doing, touching her?" Jack said. He didn't yell, and he looked as though he were going to puke any moment, but Dean was still intimidated.

If only for a moment before he remembered who he was.

He was Superman. Still,

_Be nice. Be polite, try to reason_– "Sorry, man, I guess your girl just knows what she wants." _Damn it._

"What did you say, you punk?" Jack growled. Alley re-buttoned her shirt but licked her lips with a smile none-the-less. Dean smirked, he knew she wanted him. If he could just get rid of Jack... Oh God, no. No, no, no.

"I meant... Look I'm sorry, I didn't know–"

"You knew damn well, I was watch–" Jack didn't finish his sentence. Dean was back on his feet in a flash, and before he knew what was happening he felt his knuckles come into contact with Jack's jaw. Jack stumbled and fell backwards into the dead leaves. When he raised his head again he had on his face a look of mortal terror.

For a moment Dean was confused. He hadn't hit him _that _hard, the action was just reflex. Then he saw it and his stomach turned. In his hand, was a gun, and he had it aimed between Jack's eyes. _What in the fuck? What was he doing? Put it down, put it down!_

Dean took a few steps closer to Jack, unable to lower the weapon for some reason. Oh God, he was totally out of it and he knew it. So this is what a psycho felt like. Dean knew he was now officially against the death penalty. Maybe all murderers felt this way, simply unable to control their actions, watching from inside. Did they deserve to die? Did their victims?... Why was he even thinking about this? He hadn't killed anybody, and he wouldn't. That thought repeated itself over and over inside his swimming, throbbing head. No, he wasn't a killer. Not unless he had to be. He was Superman, he was a good guy.

He lowered the gun and put on the safety, just in case. Jack continued to stare at him, terrified, but Dean felt a certain level of pride at having found control. However, very soon he was collapsing to the cold ground, dry heaving again. The pleasant warmth was leaving his body as the drugs began to lose their potency. Cold settled over him like an icy fog and rational thought came back, causing him to realize the extremity of his actions. He'd almost _killed_ a man. Oh God, he could have killed them all.

Dean didn't want to think, he didn't want to face reality, he hated the cold. What was happening to him? He crawled over to Jack and placed his hand gently on the boy's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" He slurred. God, where was this headache coming from? Dean's head felt as though it were going to split open any second. Jack shuddered, probably from the cold that was washing over him as well, everyone seemed to be coming to.

"I'm..." He blinked several times. "...alive. Are you okay?"

"Fine." Dean shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry, man. Really, that was fucked up as hell. I didn't mean it." Jack laughed half-heartedly.

"Dude, if I'd had a gun you wouldn't be sitting there. You got more control than any of us." With his final statement he glared at Alley, who merely broke the neck off of another beer and rolled over onto her back.

"I don't know what got into me." Dean confessed. Jack stared at him.

"Whatever, man, you're a joke." He scoffed before crawling over to his girlfriend and collapsing at her side. Dean was confused, and his head was swimming. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the throbbing pain but it did no good. Still on his knees, Dean pressed both palms into his temples if only to hold his skull together. Nothing stopped the pulsing, pounding in his head.

Sally seemed to come out of nowhere, with Harry at her side. Both of them had pasty grins on their faces and their eyes looked dull and empty. Harry smacked Dean in the back of the head, causing stars to dance in front of his eyes. Dean swore and Harry let out a high pitched giggle.

"Does your head hurt, new guy?"

"Dean." He grumbled giving Harry a fierce glare of warning. "I have a gun." He added to his own surprise.

"We noticed, show you put on." Sally sneered. "What are you, some sorta secret agent?" She laughed but Dean pondered the term before answering.

"Yeah." He nodded, despite the white pain that flashed through his skull at the sudden movement. "Yeah, I'm a secret agent. Agent Ford."

"Dean Ford?" Sally said slowly, twisting her tongue around the sound of it. Dean almost nodded again, but his head begged for mercy, so he merely mumbled.

"Mm-hmm." Dean was suddenly beginning to feel his ego swell again. "And I have a lot more than that." He bragged. Harry laughed out loud at him.

"Yeah?" He teased. "Like what?"

"A dozen years of martial arts training for one." Dean sneered with a glint in his eye. Sally swooned.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah!" Dean grinned. He loved a captive audience. "I'm the best big brother ever." _Huh?_ Dean's smile immediately fell from his face. He didn't know where the thought had come from, but he'd rather still have the gun aimed at that kid's head than think about Sammy. He shook the thought from his head, an action that brought more blinding pain and prompted a stifled whimper from Dean.

"Hey, dude." Harry said, shoving a plastic bag into Dean's face. "You're in rough shape, you need some o' this stuff here." He grinned. Dean didn't take the bag from him, still too pre-occupied with the headache to really hear him. Sally took the bag from her boyfriend and shook a small amount of the fine, white powder into her palm before shoving it under his nose.

"Here, baby." She cooed. "This help you, okay? Just blow your nose, only backwards."

Dean obeyed, coughing with surprise as the powder stung him between his eyes. It hurt for a moment, but very soon all feeling was melting away from him as the numbing warmth closed over his entire body. It was instant relief. He wanted to thank Harry and Sally for their help but the fog over his head wouldn't allow him to. He simply sat there, crossed legged and swaying back and forth.

"There you are..." Sally whispered. Or maybe she wasn't whispering, she sounded so far away...

Dean fell backwards into the leaves and watched the trees bend every which way in a variety of colors, and all thought of home and his brother vanished. Dean sensed movement beside him and turned his head just enough to see Jack and Alley kissing and fondling each other. He laughed to himself, apparently they made up okay. Now they were naked in the leaves, and Dean just watched; his own hand slipping inside his pants subconsciously as Alley gasped for air underneath Jack.

Dean shuddered when he came, but made not a sound. Suddenly very tired, he let the moans of the others melt into soft, white noise, and all was dark.

* * *

Sam didn't go to school that day. The night before, John had woken him up from where he slept fretfully on the couch and told him to get the shot gun, he'd heard screaming outside. They bolted out, guns at the ready, only to see a body. Sam knew the woman, she was his Geography teacher. School was closed the next morning.

After examining the body they concluded that the fabled vampire attacks, weren't vampires at all. The two tell-tale bite marks in the poor woman's neck were certainly the cause of death, but the body was still warm when they found her. Therefore, still contained warm blood. The marks were in all likely-hood created by an iron, two-pronged fork or something to that effect. This was the work of a nut-job, not a vampire, and thus not their problem.

At least this was John's view. Sam had other feelings. "I knew that woman!" He argued as he watched his father pack up their clothes for the trip. "She had three kids, we have to find the bastard who's doing this!"

John shook his head. "The police have more resources, we can't do anything they can't do. This isn't our kind of job."

"_Our kind of job?_" Sam repeated with arrogance. "You don't care if people die out here? You just want to take off again, to find another dead end?" John zipped the duffel bag up and threw it onto the couch with the other two. He seemed unfazed, so Sam continued. "Mom's not out there, Dad, no matter where you look. She's d–"

Before he'd managed to get the ugly word out of his mouth his father was on him, his eyes flashing with fury. "Don't. _Ever. _Talk to me that way again." He growled. "We're leaving. Today. That's final."

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Oooo... Cliff hangers. Ehh, I'm addicted to those. .:shrug:. Evil. That's me. Please review. Really. I thrive on reviews.

Next week, we get a little more action, lots more angst, and some gore. Yes!


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